


The Waiting (is unbearable)

by wanttobeatree



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Pandemics, weird formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29564076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanttobeatree/pseuds/wanttobeatree
Summary: It’s the quietest apocalypse you’ve ever seen. People begin to fade away.
Relationships: Greg House & James Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	The Waiting (is unbearable)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally [posted here](https://house-wilson.livejournal.com/1266809.html) in the LJ house_wilson community in March 2007. Written by putting my playlist on shuffle and stealing the first line from the first song, the second line from the second, etc.

~~This is the way the world ends:~~

  
**x.** _and that’s the way I like it_  
  
It begins on MondayTuesdayWednesday- Monday (everything begins on a Monday), with the smack-rattle-crash _splash_ of Chase dropping the coffee pot. It stains dark brown and hot, spreading across his shirt and pants, but it’s his hand his eyes are fixed on.  
  
Oh my God, Chase, says Cameron. My hand, says Chase.  
  
And he holds it up to the light. Foreman lets out a whistle, long and low and head titled back. Cameron, ever-caring over-caring (it leaks onto the floor), is up and around the table in a matter of seconds.  
  
Oh my God, Chase.  
  
You say nothing, eyes on Chase’s hand and the light shining through his fingers.  
  
(been playing with any invisible ink lately? and his look, one part annoyance to two parts abject terror, says it all really)  
  
With one sweep, you wipe the whiteboard clean and start again anew. Everyone’s favourite fellow is disappearing- differential diagnosis, anyone?

  
  
  
  
**ix.** _not near enough_

malnutrition  
hallucination  
mutation  
magic? | monday: chase fingers  
tuesday: chase hands  
cameron fingers  
wednesday: chase  
cameron  
foreman  
---|---  
  
  
(It’s contagious, you tell the handle of your cane and the cracks between your fingers. The wood is smooth and familiar and this is just stupid.  
  
Contagious, Cuddy repeats in the flat tones of an administrator without hope.  
  
We-  
It-  
Chase has lost his right hand. Cameron says it tingles. Foreman can’t concentrate (and neither can I). This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen, and I watch General Hospital. And we’re fucking terrified: is what you don’t say.  
  
This may be an epidemic: is what you _do_ say.)  
  


  
  
**viii.** _why would I sabotage the best thing I have_  
  
So the hospital’s in lockdown, says Wilson as he leans against the doorframe, and Cuddy’s on the phone with every hospital in the country as we speak. Perhaps even the world.  
  
Kinky, you remark, watching (the reflection of) Wilson’s hand reach out to pass you a beer. You don’t ask where he got it from, because when have the origins of beer ever mattered?  
  
He sits, balances his bottle on his knee, and his eyes are on your eyes are on the whiteboard through the glass.  
  
The conference room is dark and empty. You told them to (get out of my- hah- sight) go sleep.  
  
Maybe it’ll spread to your cancer kids, you suggest, spinning the bottle slipperywet with condensation around in your hand. No, think about it, doesn’t turning invisible make malignant tumours that much better? Tell them they’re going to have superpowers or something, that’ll shut them up.  
  
(breathe)  
  
You look up at him, and his face is hidden in darkness.  
  
You haven’t-?  
  
No.

  
  
  
**vii.** _the blood crawls to a slow and stops_  
  
It’s a Friday. This isn’t fair.  
You _like_ Fridays.  
  
I can still move, says ~~Chase~~ , voice sparking with hope, and I can still pick things up. Maybe this can be fixed. We can solve it.  
  
You look at him, look at his legs faded out beneath the knees and the coffee mug floating in the air inches from his face. ~~Cameron~~ is transparent, ghost-like, beside him.  
  
The tension is visible (the fellows aren’t).  
  
Enter Foreman, center stage, and his eyes are wild but his voice is calm as he says a child has disappeared. He just faded away. And he won’t come back.  
  
(silence)  
  
Fuck. First you say it, and then you shout it, and three pairs of opaque eyes turn and watch you storm away.

  
  
  
**vi.** _nothing so mundane_  
  
The clinic is full, loud, and already more empty than it was yesterday, than it was the day before. You pass by an old man with a fading face, a little girl with bouncing curls who is all bright smiles and bright eyes and not a lot else - (her parents have gone. nobody likes watching their child disappear) - and a glimpse of Cuddy through her half-open door, head in her hands and the window almost visible through her shaking shoulders.  
  
You reach exam room three, push the door open. Wilson looks up sharply.  
  
Not now, House, I’m with a patient.

She’s not going to exist in a few days anyway. I’m more important.  
  
A pause, his mouth hanging open and the girl’s eyes filling with tears. His shirt, you notice, as he grabs you by the elbow and (you can’t say that kind of thing, House) drags you away - his shirt is too big.  
  
(she’s scared, she’s only a kid)  
  
His sleeves are too long.  
  
(people are panicking enough as it is)  
  
Foreman’s gone, you say. Wilson trails off mid-sentence. You can hear, in the silence, the muffled sound of the girl beginning to cry.  
  
Oh, he says. You mean?  
  
No, not faded, just _gone_. To see- and you roll your eyes- his friends, family and general loved ones. His words, not mine.  
  
(breathe)  
  
You look at Wilson. You _look_ at him, and you can see the wrinkles and the pores and the sheen of nervous sweat. You can see the shape of his hands, in too long sleeves, stuck in his pockets.  
  
House-  
  
You can even see, and now you know the signs it’s suddenly surprisingly stupidly easy, the wall behind him.  
  
Let me see your hands.  
  
You look at ~~Wilson~~ , and he looks away.  
  


  
  
**v.** _it’s the wrong time_  
  
~~Chase~~ disappears on a Wednesday, and the last you see of ~~Cameron~~ is the tears in her eyes as she (a whisper in the air) turns away.  
  
The park is deserted, and that’s okay. Citizens are advised to remain indoors, do not pick up the phone, do not open the door, do not leave the premises, we repeat, do not leave the premises. But when you’ve been inside a hospital for weeks upon weeks upon.  
  
Well. There’s not a lot you can do to avoid it in the end.  
  
Autumn’s coming, and the leaves are red and brown. The streets are empty.  
  
It’s the quietest apocalypse you’ve ever seen.  
  
(you always wanted to be alone)  
  


  
  
**iv.** _so I won’t lose, lose, lose him to nobody else_  
  
(you ring your ~~mom~~

nobody answers)  
  
  


~~malnutrition  
hallucination  
~~mutation  
magic? curse?  
act of God?  
  
invisibility  
fading  
tingling sensation |  ~~Chase~~ 2 months  
~~Cameron~~  
~~Foreman~~  
Cuddy  
Wilson  
  
America  
Europe- 3 months  
  
no other symptoms  
---|---  
  
  
(I need a sample.  
  
Of what?  
  
Blood, hair, urine. I need biopsies. MRI. Lumbar puncture. I need everything.  
  
House.  
  
Just give them to me, Wilson. It’s not like you’re going to be using it all much longer.)

  
  
  
**iii.** _when you put your arms around me_  
  
It’s MondayTuesdaytheendoftheworld (days have lost all purpose, let’s face it) when you find a Bible in an empty room. You take it back to your desk, open a page at random, and begin to read.  
  
The Bible? questions ~~Wilson~~ from the doorway.  
  
Ssh, I’m at the good bit- you glance up at him, eyes wide- I hear this guy’s the son of _God_ or something.  
  
He passes you a beer (reflectionless), and the brush of invisible fingers on your shoulder makes you want to break something.  
  
It’s a bit late to find religion, don’t you think? -and when you really concentrate, you can almost see his lips moving.  
  
I’m not finding God, you say. I’m finding answers.  
  
~~You can’t solve this, he whispers~~  
  
You skip to Revelation, and when you look up again he’s gone.

  
  
  
**ii.** _this old town don’t smell so pretty_  
  
The hospital is silent, mostly. Maybe. Sometimes you see a little girl’s bouncing curls. Sometimes you hear ~~Cuddy’s~~ heels tapping their marching tune up and down the corridors (and once, you tried to follow, and they lead you to her locked and dusty office).  
  
Once, you come in from racing the wind on empty roads to find the balcony doors wide open and your office full of birds. A cat had made itself comfortable in the middle of the conference table.  
  
(doesn’t affect animals

you add it to the whiteboard)  
  
Once, you come in to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and a ~~whisper in the air~~  
  
(gone, you write, but not forgotten?)  
  
You always wanted to be alone.  
  


  
  
**i.** _we’re here when the daylight begins_  
  
It’s a Monday- you swear it’s a Monday- when you step out onto the balcony and hold your fingers up to the light  
  
~~you can’t solve this~~  
  
You (breathe) and ~~you~~  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(fade away.)  
  


  
  
*


End file.
